


her sweetened breath & her tongue so mean

by aghamora



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/F, Older Woman/Younger Woman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-29
Updated: 2014-05-29
Packaged: 2018-01-27 02:06:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1711019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aghamora/pseuds/aghamora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cersei doesn't believe that Margaery is still a maid, and decides to find out for herself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	her sweetened breath & her tongue so mean

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own any of these characters. Title comes from the song “Angel of Small Death & the Codeine Scene” by Hozier.

Margaery Tyrell was a problem.

She was beautiful, yes; brown-haired, doe-eyed, her body supple and slim. Yet there were a thousand girls in King’s Landing who were just like her, radiant and handsome in their youth, but youth would fade in time and their beauty with it. Yes, Cersei thought as she stared into the bottom of her glass of wine with a scowl. The girl was beautiful, but a pretty face alone was no threat to her.

Margaery was smart, too smart for her liking, and Cersei knew well that beauty and intelligence were a treacherous combination. She wasn’t daft enough not to notice the cleverness and cunning hidden behind her coquettish manner, her subtle manipulations, the careful way she chose every word she spoke. The girl of sixteen nearly matched her for wits as well, and it was infuriating.

In truth, Margaery Tyrell was far too much like her for her own good.

There was a knock on her chamber door, and from where she sat at her table, Cersei called, “Come in.”

Two guards stepped inside, and behind them strolled the Tyrell girl, clad in a blue dress with a plunging neckline that left little to the imagination, having abandoned her dour mourning garb a fortnight ago. Her cheeks were flushed with color, her hair tumbling down her shoulders in loose curls, her eyes wide with innocence of which Cersei had come to very much doubt the validity in recent days. The mere sight of her awakened Cersei’s anger, but she kept her face blank as the girl entered and came to stand before her.

“Lady Tyrell, Your Grace,” one of the men announced, just as Margaery sank into a curtsey.

_Yes. As if I could ever forget._

Her voice was steady and clear when she spoke, “You wanted to see me, Your Grace?”

“Yes,” she nodded politely and rose to stand, reaching for her flagon of Arbor red, “Would you care for a drink, my dear?”

“It’s kind of you to offer,” she grinned. Cersei longed to slap it right off of her face, “But I’m not thirsty.”

 _Of course you aren’t._ “You’ve thought over my offer, I assume?”

She nodded, and had the audacity to act humbled by the notion of marrying Tommen, “Yes. I spoke with my lord father, and he and I both agree that the match would be most advantageous. We are honored to join our houses.”

 _As you should be._ “Good,” Cersei took a drink of her wine. For a moment neither of them spoke, and after sloshing her drink around for a moment in contemplation, she set it aside, strolling over to Margaery and raising her chin at her, “There is something I must know, first. Before you are to marry my son.”

A light breeze blew in from the window, tossing Margaery’s dress around her legs and chest and sending the fabric dangerously far from one of her breasts, “Of course.”

“Disrobe.”

The word, spoken calmly and steadily – as if it were nothing more than a routine command to a servant – seemed to silence all else and send to room into stillness. The breeze continued to blow in from the open window, the queen’s long yellow curtains dancing haphazardly only feet away from them. Cersei knew she had caught the girl off guard, and the shocked widening of her eyes felt just as satisfying as she’d imagined it would. Margaery seemed to struggle to speak for a moment, and when she finally did, her voice was a notch higher than usual.

“Your Grace-“

Cersei reached for her wine and took a long swallow, her eyes drinking in the sight of the Tyrell girl in silence. It felt hotter than it should in her solar, and she decided quickly that it must be the wine.

“If you are going to wed my son,” she took a step closer to her, keeping her voice saccharine yet calmly terrifying, “I must know if you’ve a suitable body to bear children. Let me look at you.”

“I-“

She scowled, “I didn’t ask you a question. Disrobe. Or shall I have a Kingsguard do it for you?”

Word of what the Kingsguard had done to Sansa Stark clearly had not been far from Margaery’s ears, and, after lowering her eyes demurely, the girl reached behind her and undid the ties binding her dress. It slumped forward, and she paused, glancing up at Cersei as if to see if she’d changed her mind. Cersei, however, did nothing, neither nodded nor frowned, and after a moment, Margaery continued, shrugging her way out of the bodice and letting the silken fabric pool onto the ground. Cersei, meanwhile, took a drink of her wine and held the glass to her lips as she watched the scene play out before her. The tension in the air was almost palpable as Margaery stood there, clad in only her silk smallclothes, and, without allowing herself to hesitate, she pulled them off as well, until she stood before the queen, naked as her nameday.

Then, she did something that made Cersei almost impossibly furious: she looked up at her and met her gaze daringly, appearing to be entirely unashamed of her nudity. Cersei looked back with fire in her eyes, holding the gaze for a moment and clenching her jaw. Then, she took a step toward the girl, who by now had looked away from her and lowered her eyes once more.

“You’re thin,” she said, “You would be wise to put on weight. Larger women bear strong sons.”

“If I recall correctly, Your Grace,” the girl piped up, her voice maddeningly calm. Cersei wanted to hear it shake, wanted her to tremble in fear, “you were slender in your youth, and bore King Robert strong sons even so.”

Cersei gave her a pointed glare but said nothing, and circled around the girl once, like a shark in the water, looking her up and down all the while and sipping at her wine. Her buttocks were firm, rounded, and her skin didn’t have a blemish on it. Her legs were slender and shapely, her build slight, graceful. Her breasts were small but pleasingly round, peaked with pink nipples, and her waist curved in gently, like a doll’s. Cersei’s eyes wandered briefly down between her legs as she completed another circle around her, and she could see that the girl had a light dusting of brown hair there, concealing what lie beyond.

None too gently, she reached out and cupped one of her breasts, “Small. But they will swell once you carry a child.” Though it was warm in her chambers, Margaery’s nipples stood erect, but Cersei chose to make no mention of it and instead asked, “You bleed regularly?”

“Yes.”

“Your grandmother was a fertile woman,” she forced a smile, “With any luck you will be as well.” She looked down briefly at her breasts again, and found her nipples still peaked and alert. Cersei feigned concern, “Are you cold, my dear?”

Margaery seemed to realize what she was talking about, then, and avoided the other woman’s eyes, choosing instead to look past her, “Yes, Your Grace.”

Cersei knew a lie when she heard one, but she said nothing of it and set her drink aside, then approached Margaery once more and informed her, “There is something else I must know.”

Margaery gave her a look of trepidation, but quickly disguised it with a simpering smile, “Of course.”

“You say you are still a maid.”

She nodded without a second’s hesitation, “Yes.”

“Lie down. I would see for myself.”

“Your Grace, I swear it,” Margaery was struggling to keep her composure, and Cersei took immense pleasure in watching it crumble, “I never knew Renly as a wife ought to know her husband.”

“Well of course you will deny it,” Cersei spoke slowly and calmly, “If anyone were to ask, it is not as though you would dare tell them the truth, should the truth be…unsavory.”

“It is the truth,” Margaery reaffirmed.

Cersei said nothing for a moment, instead only taking a step toward Margaery until her bare breasts were nearly brushing up against the front of her mourning gown. Once she was close enough, she repeated, “Lie down.”

Margaery took a breath and composed herself, then raised her chin, “Surely Grand Maester Pycelle ought to be here. He is very experienced in the ways of women.”

_Have you got him in your pocket too, you little bitch? Have you bribed him to tell me only what you want me to hear?_

“You’ve no desire to have that lecher’s wrinkled hands between your legs, do you?” she feigned sweetness at first, but her patience was fast running thin, “I would know for myself. I wish to be certain.”

“But he-“

“Lie down, Lady Tyrell.”

The ice-cold edge to Cersei’s voice and the use of her title finally made the girl obey, and Margaery strolled over to Cersei’s bed slowly, laying down on it but keeping her legs modestly closed. As the older woman approached her, she thought enviously that the Tyrell girl looked almost like a painting lying there, resplendent in her youthful nakedness; a youth she had possessed not so long ago. Furious color rose in her cheeks, but she held her tongue and knelt at the end of the bed without saying a word.

“Open your legs.”

Margaery took a breath and obliged, spreading her legs as quickly as a whore and revealing all to her. The queen remained silent as she took in the sight, her mien impassive. The girl’s womanhood was pink, framed by a dusting of dark hair, and looked almost like a flower blossoming there between her thighs.

_How fitting. Our little rose has got a little rose between the legs._

Cersei frowned, but didn’t bother lingering any longer. With cold, narrowed eyes, she reached a hand between the girl’s outspread legs and slid a finger inside her – and the instant she did, she knew two things:

Margaery Tyrell was no maid, and Margaery Tyrell was very, very wet.

“You little _harlot_ ,” she growled, sounding every bit the fearsome lioness as she felt the girl’s wetness coat her fingers. It was not only her natural juices; no, Cersei knew arousal when she saw it, and Margaery had nowhere to hide now, with her legs spread wide and the queen’s fingers on her cunt. Her body had betrayed her, and Cersei knew she should be satisfied, but her anger only seemed to have increased tenfold.

_Gods, it’s hot in here. I’ve had too much wine._

The Tyrell girl almost whimpered, but managed to steady her voice long enough to say, “Perhaps…it was lost while I was riding, Your Grace. I-“

“Oh shut up.” She thrust her finger into her roughly, eliciting another whimper from Margaery. She could feel a tremble pass through her, yet it did nothing to quell Cersei’s fury, “Perhaps you lost it while riding, yes, but not while riding a horse.” Viciously, she hooked her finger inside her and snarled, “You’re wetter than a whore.”

Margaery gave no response, but when the queen felt a fresh rush of wetness on her finger, she knew that the girl did not even mean to deny it. Irate, Cersei pressed another finger into her fever-hot sex, and this time, Margaery could not hold in her gasp. For a moment, she only looked at the girl, taking in the sight of her reddened face, her hardened nipples, the hazy look of desire and fear on her face, and she clenched her jaw so hard that her teeth ached.

“You are not fit to be queen,” she hissed, as she plunged deeper into Margaery, her fingernails digging into her inner walls. Finally, a quiet moan broke forth from the younger girl’s mouth, and Cersei barred her teeth at her, “You like this, don’t you?”

Cersei withdrew her fingers for a moment, and though she didn’t want an answer, she heard Margaery pant, “Yes.”

For that, Cersei jabbed her fingers into her again, hoping to elicit a cry of pain, but the only response she received was a soft whimper that didn’t sound pained at all; if anything, her movements were only pleasuring Margaery more. Her fingers were sopping wet, sliding in and out effortlessly even though she tried to make each thrust as rough and painful as she could. Her movements were rapid, each one like the stab of a knife, and Margaery’s chest was heaving, her breasts rising and falling as she fought to breathe. Before long, Cersei felt a strange sort of desire mixing itself into her anger, and soon she was unable to tell the difference between the two; she only continued with her brutal, frenzied thrusts, until she felt Margaery’s cunt begin to pulse and flutter around her finger as she met her climax. Cruelly, she removed her fingers and wiped them clean on the bedsheets as Margaery came, whimpering and mewling softly, ladylike even as she came to her moment of pleasure. She watched as the girl reached back and grabbed hold of the sheets tightly, her cries and mewls growing softer as the waves of pleasure ebbed – and she’d never hated her more than she did in that instant.

“Stand,” Cersei ordered suddenly as she herself rose to her feet. Her cheeks held color as well, now, and she felt a peculiar hum in her bones. _The wine._

On shaky legs, Margaery obeyed, and Cersei reached up, placing a hand on her chin and jerking it upward so that the Tyrell girl had no choice but to look her square in the eyes. She wanted to see humiliation, shame, mortification in her gaze, but it was not there. Instead, she was calm, ever-composed – and above all, she somehow still looked _innocent_. Cersei felt the sudden desire to smack the feigned innocence right off of her face, and she ground her teeth together as she slapped her as hard as she could. Margaery’s head jerked sideways, but she made no sound of surprise and instead only stood there in silence, as if she’d been expecting it all along.

Cersei sneered, “You’ve no shame, girl.”

Without warning, Margaery raised her head, straightened her back, and took a valiant step toward Cersei. Once she was standing before her, she declared breathlessly, “No, Your Grace.”

Then, before Cersei knew it, Margaery was kissing her, reaching behind her back and masterfully undoing the ties on her dress. She tasted sweet, enticing, her tongue eager and quick. The queen tore her mouth away quickly, however, and though she looked at the girl with revulsion, her pupils were dilated with lust, the region between her legs pulsing insistently. The hum in her bones felt stronger, and she could hear her heart pounding madly inside her, silencing all else.

“How dare you?” she spat, yet it did nothing to deter Margaery, who seemed desperate to disrobe Cersei and level the playing field. So long as Cersei was dressed and Margaery was nude, they would never be equally matched in this battle; the instant Cersei was naked, she was just as helpless and had nowhere to hide, and it became clear to Cersei as she looked into the girl’s eyes that she understood this perfectly well.

“I will call my guards,” Cersei threatened, but it was an empty threat and they both knew it.

Margaery had the gall to laugh, “It would be quite unseemly for them to see us like this.”

In one swift move, Margaery undid the final laces on Cersei’s gown and watched as it fell, leaving the queen in only her smallclothes; a state no one save for Jaime and her handmaidens had seen her in, in more than a year. Refusing to allow Margaery the pleasure of disrobing her any further, Cersei clenched her jaw and tore them off defiantly as well, holding her chin at a regal angle and meeting her eyes with the queenly gaze she had long ago perfected. Even in her most defenseless state, she showed no lack of confidence, no shame or humiliation; she was a lioness, and trembled for no one.

Her body was burning in the oddest of ways, her nipples as hardened and as pert as Margaery’s, and she was wet between the legs, too. Unmistakably so. _It must be the wine._

The girl gave her one of her infuriating half-smirks, “You are radiant, Your Grace.”

Boldly, Margaery leaned in and kissed Cersei again, entangling a hand in her long, golden curls and moving far closer to her than she should’ve dared, until their breasts were pressed up against one another’s. _I am her queen. She should be on her knees, trembling in fear, begging for mercy. Not standing before me as if she is my equal._ With a throaty growl, Cersei grabbed Margaery by her hair and threw her onto the bed. Sweat beaded in the valley between her breasts, and her breaths were coming hard and fast as she advanced toward Margaery, who had landed awkwardly sideways on the bed. She could see the Tyrell girl looking at her, taking in the sight of her bare breasts and the patch of blonde hair between her legs with a look of fear and unabashed hunger in her eyes. As soon as Cersei got close enough, however, the younger girl sprang into action, taking hold of her with surprising strength and forcing her back against the pillows. Taken aback by her nerve, Cersei scowled and attempted to rise, but Margaery was on top of her before she could blink, straddling her and laying light kisses along her collarbone and neck, her thin legs curled around her and the heat of her cunt resting mere inches from Cersei’s own. The feeling only made her wetter.

“Stop it,” Cersei bit out, but Margaery did not obey.

Margaery grinned and lowered her lips to Cersei’s breast, noticing her hardened nipples, “Are you cold, Your Grace?”

Cersei gritted her teeth, but felt a flood of heat between her legs even so, “I will have you flayed for this.”

She inhaled sharply when Margaery took the nipple into her mouth, sucking eagerly at it, her lips soft and wet. She hummed against the pillow-like flesh, and the vibration nearly made Cersei shudder. Desperate to stop her, Cersei reached down and grabbed savagely at her hair again, yanking it roughly, yet Margaery didn’t even seem to notice, and she didn’t pull away even for a moment. In truth, the sensation of Margaery’s warm mouth on her breast almost made Cersei moan aloud; it seemed like ages since anyone had pleasured her, and Jaime’s idea of foreplay had scarcely ever been more than a few fingers jammed inside her. Margaery tore her mouth away, then, and laid a trail of kisses down her belly that gradually drew lower and lower, until her lips were hovering over her burning hot sex.

“You sicken me,” the queen rasped, though it could not have been further from the truth.

Margaery began to kiss the inside of her thigh, and chuckled lowly against her skin, “In the Reach things like this are not uncommon. Women dabble with women, men with men.” She knew the girl was saying this to shock her, and Cersei’s disgust must have shown clearly on her face, because the girl laughed, “The touch of a woman is far gentler than that of a man. Men are so rough, always trying to prove to you how powerful they are. Women are sweet. Tender.” She stopped a lay a brief kiss on her clit, and Cersei could not stop herself from shivering, “And women know how to touch other women.”

“It is unnatural,” Cersei tried to sound fearsome, but her voice was hoarse and had lost a great deal of its conviction.

“And it is natural for a man to stumble drunk into his wife’s bed and give her no pleasure as he takes his own?”

Her words struck a chord with Cersei, who remained silent, growing wetter and wetter as Margaery began to kiss her folds teasingly, slipping her tongue inside every so often. Her tongue was lithe and gentle, more pleasurable than she’d ever admit, and just when she was about to grab the girl’s head again and force her closer, Margaery started to speak once more.

“There were gatherings back home, sometimes. Secret parties where men and women might explore one another to find what they like, and making love was celebrated. We are to be kept maids until our wedding night, and after that we only know one _man_ for the rest of our lives-“

“As we should,” Cersei cut her off.

“As we should, perhaps,” Margaery lowered her eyes, “Yet I do not wish to live and die as we should.”

Finally, Margaery brought her mouth to her quivering sex and enveloped it in a deep kiss, placing a hand on Cersei’s leg as her tongue worked its way over her clit. In an instant Cersei knew Margaery had attended those gatherings of which she’d spoken; the girl had kissed a cunt before, and often enough to know just how to do it. She was lapping her up as if she was sweeter than honey, dipping her tongue inside her and then occasionally removing it to swirl it tauntingly around her clit. Cersei was sopping wet, now; she could feel her juices coating the insides of her thighs and nearly seeping onto the bedsheets.

 _It is the wine._ Yet Cersei knew in her heart it was not.

She bit down hard on her tongue to keep from moaning – as she wouldn’t give Margaery the satisfaction of hearing her cry out – and reached a hand back to grab onto the sheets. Margaery’s tongue seemed as if it was moving agonizingly slowly, yet the skill with which she worked made it feel as if she had three tongues instead of one – and she was eager, eager to lap up her up, to take her with her mouth, to pleasure her. Her quick little tongue ducked in and out of her folds, occasionally circling around them for a moment before diving back inside, in a pattern that Cersei could never seem to predict.

Her body was on fire, the inferno raging between her legs so powerful that she could do nothing but buck her hips up into Margaery’s mouth desperately as the girl worked. After a while, she reached down and fisted a handful of Margaery’s soft brown hair in her hands, pulling so hard that she nearly ripped it from the scalp, but the girl never sped up or slowed down; she only continued to lick and suckle her clit and drink up her juices, like a starving woman eating her last supper, cherishing every bite.

When Cersei came, she came hard, shivering and rocking her hips and grinding her teeth to keep from screaming. She had almost no control over herself now; she was subject to the whims of Margaery and her mouth, and she was so angry that she could feel her head pounding with rage. The girl’s scent, subtle and flowery, seemed almost an aphrodisiac to her, and as she rode the waves of her orgasm, Margaery continued her light, torturous ministrations, focusing her attention solely on her clit and suckling it just as she’d suckled her breast. Though her mind was numb with pleasure, Cersei thought briefly that she couldn’t remember the last time she had been like this, so devoid of control. Her legs were spread wide open like a whore’s, her sex Margaery’s to do with as she pleased.

She hated it. She adored it.

When at last she did recover, Cersei managed to prop herself up on trembling elbows and steady her voice, “You are a _whore_.”

Margaery said nothing, did not admit to it or deny it, and only licked her swollen lips, tasting the remainder of Cersei’s wetness there. Her brown hair was messy and her skin flushed, and Cersei had to force herself not to grab the girl’s hair and force her pretty little mouth back on her cunt.

The queen did nothing. After a moment, she kicked Margaery away from the end of the bed and got to her feet, locating a green silk robe nearby and draping it around her naked body. Still, Margaery did not move; she only stayed where she was, kneeling near the bed without a scrap of clothing on her. Her hands were folded properly in her lap, and the queen wondered for a moment why she bothered, when they had already ventured so far from propriety. Cersei thought for a moment, then walked over to her table, reached for her glass of wine, turned her back to Margaery, and brought it to her lips.

“Leave me,” she ordered. There was no need to tell the girl to speak of this to no one. If she did, Margaery would be ruined as well, and though Cersei did not doubt that the little rose would very much like to see her ruined, she knew she would not be foolish enough to tarnish her own reputation to do it.

She heard faint rustling behind her as Margaery dressed herself, and she turned just in time to see the girl sink into a deep curtsey, nearly all the way to the floor, in the way only the well-trained daughters of nobility could. She dared to glance up at Cersei for a moment, and when she did, she gave her a knowing smile, angling her chest forward so the queen could see the tops of her breasts beneath her gown more easily.

Then, reverently, she lowered her eyes and nodded, “Your Grace.”

Cersei scowled as Margaery stood and turned away, disappearing out the door shortly thereafter. After refilling her glass and walking over back to her bed, Cersei sat down upon it and drank deeply. Even though the little rose was long gone, her maddening scent lingered on the sheets and hung stubbornly in the air. She could see a few faint stains on the bedding as well, and as Cersei stood and began to dress herself, she decided she’d burn it in the morning.


End file.
